which open right into the throne room. It’s a grand space with highly polished marble floors. Heavy tapestries embroidered with gold thread hang from the walls, along with faded portraits of former monarchs. There are a few rows of wooden seats that look barely used, and there’s a throne at the back of the room.
An old man with straggling, gray hair sits on the throne. He wears the same ceremonial doublet Prince Liam wore earlier, except his fits badly. It looks like it’s barely hanging on his skeletal frame. The sunken-in eyes stare at me from across the room, and I still my fidgeting. This must be what it’s like to meet Death.
“Bring her forth.”
Liam grasps my upper arm, leading me to a spot in the middle of the room. His father, the king, stares at me beadily. His body is overcome with small tremors.
“You are the American who trespassed into my country?”
My voice echoes in the cavernous room. “I—I’m not American! I didn’t trespass!”
Another man’s voice rings out. “Your Majesty, I have reason to believe the girl is lying. We found American paraphernalia in her belongings, and we seized her laptop.”
“Bring me the evidence.”
The man deposits the empty bag of peanuts in the king’s waiting hands. “What’s this rubbish?”
“It’s a packet of peanuts.”
“The girl is an American…because she eats peanuts.”
“No, she’s an American because the manufacturer is located in Sacramento.”
I turn toward the voice, staring at the uppity asshole. “I demand a lawyer.”
“You demand?” King Jonathan’s face spreads with a nasty smile. “No one makes demands of the king.”
“I’m sorry, sir—”
“Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty,” I grind out. “This is a miscarriage of justice. I have no legal representation. Your evidence was obtained without a warrant. Whatever he found in my things is inadmissible.”
The throne room erupts with the king’s laughter. The very floors shake with the force bursting from his chest. Liam gives me an exasperated look, and the man who I suspect is a police chief exchanges an amused smile with the king.
“Your Yankee laws do not apply to us, my dear. We are a sovereign nation. I will not tolerate any more interruptions about how I should rule my country.”
Feeling sick, I watch as the master-at-arms clears his throat. “As I was saying, we recovered the laptop and found that she’s a student at University of California, Berkeley. We also found her Instagram.”
The king’s eye widen as the master-at-arms pulls out his phone and cycles through a few particularly embarrassing pictures of me frolicking in a bikini on a beach, and me posing with a giant cheeseburger hovering near my lips.
“An American spy.”
“I believe so.”
Liam takes a step forward, frowning. “Father, I highly doubt this woman is a spy. My instincts scream ‘dumb thrill-seeker’ not ‘devious spy.’”
“The question of whether or not she’s a spy is irrelevant. She broke the law and expected no consequences. Typical American arrogance.” A thunderous rage erupts from his voice. “I will blast every one of your damned Yankee ships that attempt to rescue you. I sentence you, Daisy Walker, to ten years of hard labor in the quarry.”
Ten… ten years?
“Father, I must object to this.”
“Must you?”
“The sentence is far too harsh. It doesn’t fit the crime.”
“She is at worst an American spy, and at best, an idiot.” His nasty gaze turns on me once again. “I suppose you wanted to come here and cause trouble, didn’t you?”
“No! I swear!”
“You’re a student at this school, are you not?”
My eyes burn. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean—”
“So you came here on your summer break, thinking this would be a nice little project, didn’t you? Destabilizing my regime must earn you class credit at that free-loving, piss-covered hippy school.”
I wrap my arms around my body, trembling.
“You see, Liam? She is a conspirator. She must be punished accordingly.”
“I don’t agree.”
The room echoes with the sound of King Jonathan’s fist slamming into the arm of his chair. “Ten years of hard labor in the quarry. You begin tomorrow.”
Two
Chaos at Harronvale: Daft Yankee Insults Prince Liam
Liam
“Ten—ten years?”
Daisy’s indignant voice cuts right into my chest as my father stares back at her insolent gaze without pity.
“Ten years,” he repeats, his foul face widened with glee. “And may you rot. Take the prisoner away and confiscate her camera!”
Fuck.
“You can’t do this!”
Part of me wants to laugh at her arrogance. Of course he can do this. He’s the fucking king.
Daisy takes a step forward and is immediately restrained by the guards. I’m in awe of her tiny arms, which struggle to break